ST. IGNATZ (conclusion)
Patron Saint of Rats
pins his pink eyes on Frankie
stands on ancient legs
his pale and palsied
Frank makes for the exit
feels claws and paws at his ankles
up his legs
pulled to his knees
one last look
feet above his sorry throne
the whole damn nightmare
and for disturbing her solitude, god-damn it
pushes off her ledge
double-somersaults in thick air
lands at foot of Ignatz' throne
Curse of Sewer Rats Everywhere
sends throne and cinder blocks
Ignatz' Entire Congregation
Dead-Breath Sewer Gas
entrance to this hole in the city
where he started his
and worse for the wear
beats tracks for
dream-scape he calls home.
Inside the storm drain
Raven shivers back to shape but huge
and Ignatz plops his sorry ass
back to earth
No dignity in dirty water
he scrambles to his feet
rights his throne
and has a seat.
Ma, says Ignatz, what the fuck?
Ignatz, says Ma, Frank is a civilian, out of his depth.
You can't volunteer if you don't know what you're volunteering for.
Oh, come on, Ma, of course you can, that's called life.
But this isn't, and you and your rats disturbed me.
Not me, the guy with the laptop.
Who is also in for a big surprise.
Uh-huh, like how he's going to end this…opus.
I'll tell you this, nobody dies.
Nope, you can't die in your own dream.
And whose dream is it, Ma?
Well, Iggy, there's nobody here whose dream it ain't.
the city rolls to work
Frank rolls into bed
Ma departs for less noxious realms
and the rats light up
like demented elves
chattering and scurrying
into another Saturday night in Rat-Town.